debt
by cedricsowner
Summary: Some things haunt you forever. But where Chance failed, maybe Guerrero will succeed? Just a short series of scenes in five chapters, focusing on the emotional challenge of paying back an old debt.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

At first sight the parking lot of the closed-down supermarket in Roxbury looked completely deserted. A closer look, however, revealed two men hanging out in the shadow cast by the vacant building. Well, "hanging out" might not be the most appropriate term of description since "hanging out" implies some sort of relaxation while at least one of the men that afternoon epitomized everything but: Laverne Winston was practically simmering with anger. He looked like a volcano - massive, ominous and ready to erupt.

Christopher Chance, his long-time business partner and friend, on the other hand, was the happiest of campers: "Did you see the large building on the right that we passed by on our way from the airport? I think that was the Sam Adams brewery! Did you know that they're importing their hops from Europe? They use a special kind of hops called Hallertau Mittelfrueh that's a little tricky to grow, which is why farmers tried to get Sam Adams to use a different sort, but no way, the brewery insisted and the farmers caved in. Hallertau Mittelfrueh would be extinct by now, had Sam Adams not put their foot down. Imagine that, a world without Hallertau Mittelfrueh!"

"Are you getting on my nerves on purpose?" Winston stomped around the square shade cast by the building like a bull waiting to be let into an arena. "Are you making fun of me?"

Chance made a mock-serious face: "I never would."

The retired policeman stared daggers at him. "You really don't get the gravity of the situation, do you? Damn, Chance, that sleazebag friend of yours really crossed the line this time and you behave as if this was our annual staff outing!"

The former assassin heaved a sigh. This was a tough decision to make – should he point out to Winston that his assumption of what Guerrero was about to do had several obvious flaws? To begin with, Guerrero would have covered his tracks much more thoroughly, was he really planning what Winston thought he was planning. Besides that, he would have avoided all the places in Boston that Chance knew he had a connection with. He surely would not show up at his old hideout here in Roxbury where they had once concealed themselves during an unplanned overnight stay thanks to an uncooperative target. Thirdly, and most importantly, people who Guerrero wanted dead, died. Period. He didn't let them live on for ten years and then went after them again. Should he tell Winston any of this? His business partner's blood pressure had surely reached dangerous levels by now and he sounded like he was on the verge of hyperventilating. On the other hand it would be such a pity to stop the fun right now. Choices, choices….

Guerrero took the decision out of his hands by finally coming round the corner of the former supermarket and stopping dead in his tracks. "Dudes… What are you doing here?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

Chance settled back comfortably against the building's red brick wall.

"Stopping you", Winston growled.

"Stopping me from what?" Guerrero was puzzled.

The retired policeman couldn't believe this hyena-turned-human had the impertinence to play innocent. "From what you're planning to do!" All the things he had ever found out about Guerrero came back to his mind like a giant wave of wastewater. The fire in the orphanage, the nun in Montreal….

Chance wished he had brought popcorn.

Still puzzled, Guerrero shook his head: "Look, I'm involved in some really time-sensitive business here. I need to get going, I can't play Elmo's Sing-Along Guessing Game with you right now."

Enough was enough. The bald man charged forward at an impressive speed, but Guerrero, even more impressively, side-stepped the attack, tripped him up, grabbed his wrist, used Winston's momentum against him and thus caused him to crash to the ground like a tree struck by lightning.

"I honestly don't understand why you're so agitated", he stated, taking a step back, ready to fend off another onslaught.

"_Why I'm so agitated_? You're planning to get even with an FBI agent!" Grunting, Winston got on his feet again.

"And that would be wrong because…?"

"Nobody deserves to die, remember? We don't kill people!" The big man's voice grew quieter for a tiny moment. "At least not if we can help it…" He took a deep breath and became louder again: "And as much as I hate to admit it, this "we" includes _you_! For whatever reason Chance decided to have you on board. I have learned to live with that – sometimes you've got to eat crap and like it. But I'm not going to live with you compromising our key values!"

Rather exasperated, Guerrero turned to Chance: "You let him travel all the way from Frisco with that idea in his head?"

"What can I say? It was the funniest trip I had in a long time."

Now the gaunt man sounded almost as annoyed as Winston had only a few moments ago: "Were you angry that I didn't ask you to tag along in the first place or just bored because your last few assignments had no explosions in them?"

Both, actually, but Chance was not willing to let his friend know he had hit the nail right on the head.

Winston, meanwhile, was not willing to listen to anything any longer: "Word is on the street that you collected information about Elaine Winter. The very FBI agent that you almost killed in a shootout ten years ago. She had you cornered and you badly injured her in order to escape. They say she was the only law enforcer who ever managed to get this close to arresting you. Looks to me like you're now planning to finish the job. What did she do, start going after you again?"

Guerrero's answer was short and certainly unexpected by Winston: "Why don't I like handcuffs?"

Good question. The former policeman opened his mouth for a quick, angry retort and found himself lost for words. He had no idea. Back at the FBI building, when they had tried to pull an Aunt Linda or whatever it was called, he had attributed Guerrero's continuous refusal to wear them properly to his usual obstructive nature.

"Elaine Winter had not only cornered me, she and the team that she was part of back then had me arrested." Guerrero's face grew hard and unreadable as he spoke. "It was a complicated situation - I wasn't alone. To take care of the others, they chained me to a heating in some run-down warehouse. During the fight that ensued, a fire broke out." The gaunt man paused. Ten years had passed, but he still remembered it all too well: The stench, the smoke, the tears in his eyes and the searing pain in his lungs. The goddamn handcuffs that he just couldn't open. "They all fled the building. Nobody bothered to free me first. They would have let me burn alive and probably thought they were doing the world a favor. All but one. Agent Winter came running back and unlocked the cuffs." He paused again, the image of that tiny FBI agent, stumbling through the flames towards him, passing by his mind's eye. "Together we escaped from the building. She saved my life, but of course she had no plans to let me go."

Winston gasped in disbelief: "So you _shot _her? After she rescued you at the peril of her life?"

"I was suffering from smoke intoxication – I had no strength whatsoever left to hit her on the head and render her unconscious. She had her gun with her and wasn't paying attention…" The look on his face spoke volumes: _She or me. _"I tried to avoid vital parts of the body", he finally added.

The huge Afro-American was still shaking his head.

"Well, whatever. A couple of days ago word was out on the street that a certain FBI agent got herself into trouble with some black sheep among her colleagues. Her own people are after her and apparently they're not planning to make prisoners. I've got to get going." Guerrero grabbed his travel bag and started crossing the parking lot.

He was only a few feet away when he heard heavy footsteps following him. "You don't want to face rogue FBI agents without reinforcement, do you?"

Guerrero slowed down to let Winston catch up with him. Grinning to himself, Chance got his back off the wall and joined them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

Lost in agony and despair, Agent Elaine Winter sank deeper and deeper into the dark waters of unconsciousness. Flashbacks from the past few days jumped at her like hungry rats. Her unit chief, sitting at his desk, smiling at her: _"The information you've collected looks very promising. It might help to solve at least half a dozen murder cases and destroy an international criminal syndicate. Congratulations, Elaine, great job! This will surely earn you your long-awaited promotion. Now, if you would give us the name and whereabouts of your informant, we could…"_

_"I'm sorry, I can't give away any details on that informant. I promised utmost confidentiality." Her goddamn ethics again. Did she never learn anything? Hadn't ethics almost cost her everything once already?_

_"Oh, of course we're going to respect your promise", her superior replied, still smiling the brightest of smiles. "Where would we end up if informants couldn't trust the FBI's guarantees?" And with this he led her out of his office. Elaine, relieved by the outcome of the conversation, made her way down to the garage where her car was parked. As she unlocked the door she noticed something that made her stop dead in her tracks. _

_The car seat had been moved. _

_Just a few inches, but looking over your shoulder for ten years makes you notice such trifles. A case she had worked on some time ago came to her mind – the Illinois Regency bomber had placed contact mines under car seats and when the targets had sat down… Elaine fished a thick cookbook which had been meant as a wedding present to some distant relative from her backseat, did a couple of retrograde steps and threw it on her car's driver's seat. The explosion that ensued was so confined that only the interior of her car was consumed by the flame. Exactly like the explosions in the case had been… only that the bomb planter was in prison now, maximum security. As the alarm bells of the building started to wail, Elaine made the decision that she better ran. _

_She wanted to believe that after waiting for a decade HE had finally decided to strike, but the bitter truth was that the only ones knowing how exactly the Illinois Regency bomber had managed to confine the explosions so excellently were her colleagues. _

Her long-time friend and mentor, touching her arm in a reassuring gesture: _I'm so glad you called me, Elaine. But you really shouldn't have run away. They're totally puzzled at the office! You don't really think the FBI – your colleagues, your friends, had anything to do with that car bomb? Now, I do understand that handling sensitive information of the kind you got your hands on can make you a little paranoid, but you should trust people more, Elaine. Now come with me and…" She saw the signet ring on his finger gleam in the sunset and knew it was a syringe. _

_HE had used a syringe disguised as a ring in one of his assignments, about thirteen years ago. She had studied all his deeds meticulously. With more luck than judgment she managed to twist her mentor's arm and push the tiny needle into his own flesh. _

The informant, dead in a heap on the floor, collapsed in a puddle of blood. Elaine kneeling next to him, closing his eyes. _"I swear I didn't tell them…"_

Her step-brother, his eyes nervously darting from left to right. _"You told them you would meet me, didn't you?" she asked, more resigned than angry._

_"They said it would be best for you." He looked terribly sorry. Bullets raining down on her, she darted forward to the streetcar tunnel, trying to pull him with her. Always meet at places with more than one escape route had made it possible for HIM to evade arrest so many times. Right in front of the tunnel entrance her step-brother sank down. No witnesses. _

_As she bent over to check on him, hoping against hope, she got hit, too. _

Suddenly the flashbacks ended and out of the darkness came the face that had been haunting Elaine's sleep for the past ten years. A deceivingly weedy-looking man with a rat-like, haggard, unshaven visage, deep scars, eyes cold as a snake's and hands that could turn into iron claws within seconds reached for her throat.

HE.

Elaine just knew this was the moment she was going to die.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

"She's got pulse but it's very weak", Guerrero said matter-of-factly, withdrawing his hand from Elaine's carotid artery. "Judging from her skin temperature and the cold sweat she's covered in I'd say she's got an infection…." He pulled away the blanket she had been wrapped in, exposing the bloody bandage around her stomach. "…from a badly tended bullet wound."

"We're getting company!" Winston informed them via earpiece. Outside, advancing steps on the pebbled driveway could be heard. "Three masked man. A fourth fellow is waiting by the car, waving some impressive-looking documents at the motel's owner."

"You've got to get our car as close to the cabin as possible", Chance shouted, releasing his rifle's safety catch. "She's not able to walk on her own."

"There's a steep drop-off right behind the cabin which they probably didn't take into account as an escape route. If you make it down there I could pick you up", Winston suggested.

Guerrero shook his head. "Steep drop-off? Not cool, dude. She won't survive it." He paused, furrowed his brow. "Or maybe we should risk it after all…"

"No! We shouldn't, not in the state she's in", Chance replied firmly, darting a questioning glace at his old comrade-in-arms. "But we can make it look as if we went that way." He fired at the motel's propane tank. The thundering explosion of the tank gave them the opportunity to execute the plan. He started splashing liquid from the mini-bar everywhere. Outside shocked tourists started running all over the place. Thank God everybody seemed to be following common sense and fleeing the scene as fast as possible, thus lowering the possibility of collateral damage immensely.

"I carry her, you give us covering fire", Guerrero determined, started forward, then hesitated. "No, _you_ carry her, I give us covering fire." He paused. "No, you're much better at that… but what if…"

The intruders fired through the billowing smoke from the propane tank and the motel's main building which was up in flames from the explosion. They were advancing extremely fast. Nevertheless Guerrero still stood unmoving, frozen to the spot.

Chance couldn't believe his eyes: "Guerrero! What are you waiting for? Would you like to serve our guests welcome glasses of champagne?"

No reaction.

"Whatever you're doing, you should definitely hurry up", Winston urged them on.

Chance decided that since neither gunfire nor words of guidance seemed to get through to his friend there was only one option left. A classic one, as seen in a thousand movies. One you should never use on a friend. At least not when your friend is a well-experienced assassin with a profound aversion against physical contact. Unless, of course, you're under gunfire and the two of you will be dead in a minute anyway.

He slapped him.

Can you say "quick start"? Guerrero grabbed Elaine and carefully carried her to a side window while Chance set the cabin on fire. Causing as much ruckus as possible, he stormed out the door and headed for the back of the cabin, giving Guerrero with Elaine, disguised by thick clouds of smoke, the opportunity to sneak out of the window. In the distance their car zoomed by, heading down the narrow path to the foot of the drop-off. Realizing that there was an escape route behind the cabin they hadn't covered, the attackers riddled it with bullets. Halfway down the path the vehicle went up in flames, toppled over and exploded.

"Thank God it was stolen anyway", Winston muttered as he careened down the driveway with the car he had just borrowed from the attackers' very surprised driver. With screeching brakes he came to a halt right in front of Guerrero and his load.

A split second later Chance emerged from the black clouds and helped his friend to lift the woman into the back of the car. "How often have we done that - block the steering wheel and let the car go down the path alone? Isn't it great that some tricks just don't get old?"

While the retired policeman stepped on the gas, speeding away as fast as possible, Chance locked eyes with Guerrero. "What's the matter with you?" he asked him, not too loudly, so that Winston wouldn't hear. "_I carry her…no, you carry her…_ for a moment you looked… how shall I put it… _confused_…"

"Dude…" Guerrero swallowed. The car hit a bump in the road and since they were exceeding the speed limit by far, the vehicle was considerably shaken. Elaine, still more or less unconscious, winced in pain as the two men did their best to steady her. "This is just not cool… you know what I mean… this bodyguard thing… making sure that someone _doesn't_ get killed… I have no…" He swallowed hard again. "No clue what to do…."

Chance understood, better than Guerrero could ever imagine. He had asked the same question, once upon a time. And had he adhered to the advice he had been given, his life would be different now. Way different. "Never let her out of your sight", he told his friend, each syllable causing a searing pain in his heart.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

The first thing Elaine realized when she woke up was that she wasn't in pain anymore. She wondered if she had died and gone to heaven. Then she opened her eyes and saw who was sitting in an armchair right next to her bedside. No, she definitely wasn't in heaven. Not if _he_ was here.

At the sight of him, goose bumps started creeping all over her body. Her left and her right hemisphere seemed to be at loggerheads with each other: On the one hand she was feeling definitely better, on the other hand this was the man she had been mortally afraid of for a whole decade. What was this about? It maybe would've helped to put her at ease a little if he had smiled at her, but smiles, at least the non-eerie ones, weren't part of his repertoire.

"You'll be thirsty." Guerrero held a glass of water out to her. She stared at it as if she expected it to explode.

In a Herculean effort, Elaine managed to muster up the sorry remnants of the courage that was left in her after the last few hellish days. "Don't get me wrong… it's not just that you shot me, significantly slowed down my career and cost me countless nights of sleep…" She coughed. "I've attended autopsies of some of the people you poisoned." Her shaking hands didn't leave the blanket.

Guerrero took a sip from the water and held the glass out to her again.

Elaine seriously considered just letting it fall, but on the other hand she was indeed very thirsty. And since he hadn't killed her so far… Considering what she had learned about Guerrero from his files, he wouldn't have waited to see her die while being fully conscious. As far as she knew he had always struck fast, often before the victims even had a chance to understand what was going on. Slowly, very slowly, she took the glass and lifted it to her lips. The water tasted like it should. No ominous additives, just pure water. To her dry mouth and sore throat it tasted like the best champagne in the world.

"We managed to retrieve the bullet", someone said. Elaine cautiously turned her head. A blond muscular man with bright blue eyes was leaning against a wall at the far end of the room, a Rottweiler at his feet. She knew his face only too well. Oh boy, the man that Joubert's people referred to as "Junior". The day was really looking up. "The infection is already subsiding. Another day or two of rest and you'll be fine."

A second voice spoke up: "With the information from that memory stick of yours we think we'll be able to flush out the perpetrators." It belonged to a huge baldheaded Afro-American she had never seen before. "It'll be a bit tricky and it'll take some planning, but chances are next week this time you'll be lying on your own sofa again, with no need to worry about hidden bombs or sniper attacks."

Their guest stared into the distance for a long moment, then she locked eyes with Guerrero. He held her gaze. With utter surprise she realized that he had actually meant the words he had spoken to her back in the alley, right before shooting her _"I'm going to make up for this"_. For the past ten years she had those words believed to be a crude taunt. "I didn't even ask for your help", she said.

"You should have", he replied. "Would have saved you some trouble."

Elaine sighed. This was crazy, trusting these people, but on the other hand it wasn't that she had that many other options left. "You know you're in really deep trouble when the only ones you can trust are assassins", she muttered drowsily, more to herself than to anyone else. Weighted down with weariness she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

Chance and Winston moved towards the door. "I'll be needing an ID to get into that FBI unit", Chance told Guerrero before he and Carmine left the room.

"And some background information on the team members would be great, too", Winston added, then hesitated for a moment. With the slightest of touches, he patted the sitting man's shoulder. Once.

Left alone with sleeping Elaine, Chance's words in the car came back to Guerrero's mind: _"Never let her out of your sight."_

"I won't", Guerrero whispered. "I won't." Silent as a mouse he put his notebook down on the table next to Elaine's makeshift bed, lifted the computer's lid and began to work.

- the end -


End file.
